Lost Boy
by Fogs of Gray
Summary: He was always the lost boy. The one forgotten and beaten, who finally found his way back.


*cough cough* This fic got away from me, unfortunately. It started as an introspect throughout the years and ended as Leah/Macon fluff.

Spoilers: Beautiful Creatures, Beautiful Darkness

Disclaimer: Hahaha-no. Not mine.

* * *

He was always the lost boy. The one who was different from the rest. The one whose smile you can't bear to forget. He was the boy who was humble in subtle undertones and eccentric overall. Behind the carefully made mask, he knew where he stood, as every Caster did. When given the chance, he elected to change it, unlike most. The deck was stacked against him, of course, and he refused to lose hope.

Young Macon's head pounded. His chest heaved in quick successions, although he had tried focusing multiple times to nullify the obvious anxiousness. His hands were still, hanging limply from his place against the wall. Had anyone seen him, they would have first noticed how his pupils were blown by adrenaline. His mind was running, catching on the faintest of remembered whispers. He shivered softly; the thunder in his head dulled. Macon closed his eyes.

When he had the preliminary thoughts of hiding, it had seemed a well planned escape. Fighting wasn't an option. Not when _he_ was angry. Now it seemed ludicrous. He was stuck here, holed up in some closet of Ravenwood. If Silas found him, _when,_ he would be cornered. Macon was sure his father could hear his breathing in a sober state. He only hoped the man was as far from that as ever.

Macon tilted his head back. It was a snap decision. He had tried to stop the man from another drink, which would lead to a loss of temper, Macon knew. Silas had none of that, and had struck him to the ground. Words were exchanged, plenty of words, but the ones that echoed in the shell of his ear were those his father had muttered. "...call old Abraham...see if he can help..." Macon took that as his chance to flee and ended up here.

Macon's breath hitched. His hands found their way to his shirt hem, twisting the fabric in brief repetitions. _I'm sorry...I'm sorry..._ Footsteps clamored down the hall. Heavier than his father's and quicker, also. Abraham.

The door opened quickly. _Thud...thud...thud..._ He held his breath as the footfalls crescendoed in front of the closet door. The tightness in his chest expanded, snatching at him. Heels spun and the footsteps continued away. Macon allowed himself to breathe a sigh. His stomach plummeted. His eyes flashed open. The door gave way in that moment, revealing a tall silhouette. "I'm sorry-"

A heavily accented voice cut through him. "They all are, you damn bastard child." The tone was slightly bored. A hand clapped on his shoulder and pulled him roughly into the room. That night he learned Ravenwoods don't run away.

* * *

He made sure his actions were always thought through, after that incident. Every word, every touch, every *sound* was calculated. He kept his head low until his family, _Silas_, found out of his Jane. The disapproval was anticipated. The reaction was...odd, in the least. He expected disappointment, an obvious exile of himself. Disappointment was clear, as every emotion had been, sharp and cutting. And he _was_ exiled, but it was by his own choice. The right and the easy were never the same, he knew that.

A decade older Macon swallowed thickly. His head housed a tempest that raged for days, a muddled fury of instincts and morals. He *needed* her. He needed to see her, to know she was okay, and try to make everything alright again. He needed to keep her safe. He needed to let her move on, as he knew she would, and lead a life he could never give her. She wanted a family, something he would ruin even if there was a way. She wanted _him_, something he couldn't guarantee when this process ended. Of course, now that it was wearing down and he could almost think straight, he had the semblance he didn't love her any less. His lips tightened.

The door opened slowly. Macon kept his eyes down, knowing precisely who it was. "Father, it's nice for you to make an appearance."

A chuckle disrupted the air. "Oh, I wouldn't let Silas to talk to you, boy. He made the same mistake as you. Of course, it was more...accepted than the relationship you attempted to keep afloat. I blame poor parenting."

His eyes had snapped to the aging man as soon as he started speaking. "You scarred our family for a house, Grandfather. Excuse me for damning myself for the woman I loved."

Blackened eyes sharpened. "Love is a trick, Macon. It doesn't exist. Not for us. We are meant for something _grander_ than what affection can give us." Abraham sighed, feigned forlorn. "I told Silas many times he was too lenient with you. Then again, he never really got over his Caster's abandonment." Macon allowed his eyes to close slightly longer than needed. "I'll give you a proposition, as you are a Ravenwood. Join your father and I. We can change the world into a more desirable place for us."

For a wild moment, Macon almost considered it. An end to this pain? This emotional turmoil that has ripped him to someone he didn't recognize? "Leave." His voice was a low growl. Abraham's retort was instantaneous.

"What are you going to do, boy? Those _Casters_ won't accept you. You're a predator. Do you think they will trust you?"

"No, I'd be severely confused to believe that. Would the Cubi respect me any more than the Casters, Grandfather? I'm a traitor of both parties, yes?" A faint smile pulled on the young man's lips. "I might as well knock them out of their mindset then. Especially after Hunting so _gracefully_ crawled back to them." A small shiver ran through his form. "I won't join you, Abraham." The Incubus's eyes flashed. "Be sure to check on Silas for me. I hear he's not too keen on me taking Ravenwood. We both know how he deals with disappointment." The old Incubus was gone within seconds, with not even a glance at his grandson.

* * *

Macon was careful with his heart after that. Some speculated he forgot what it felt like, love. Others thought _his kind_ simply couldn't feel compassion of any sort. He never forgot. When inquired upon, he said he had. It was easier to see the smugness in their eyes than the pity. His cold heart thawed over time, though, enough for a young girl to hole her way in.

Macon sat in his armchair, book in hand. His fingers feathered over the closed pages. He should have been reading, researching, memorizing. He couldn't keep his thoughts together, though. His niece would toss in the room above him, caught in the sheets, and his focus would turn. She was prone to nightmares, he knew that by now. He closed his eyes. She was silent, which raised some concern. He couldn't hear her breathing from her bedroom, as he usually could.

He was about to stand when someone tapped his shoulder. His mind whirled. The young girl rubbed her eyes softly, a suppressed yawn compressing her mouth. He hesitated to speak. Instead, he placed his novel to the side. Her bright eyes were fixed on him. "You look sad."

He remembered what Del told him. _She needs a parent, not an uncle._ "I imagine everyone is a little sad, Lena." Her gaze didn't move. He shifted a bit.

"_Everyone_?"

"At some point." He faked a smile. "I feel better, Lena." Her impassive expression didn't budge. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Uncle M?"

"Yes, Lena?" *What could possibly be wrong with her?*

The steadiness of her stare faltered. "I can't sleep." _Oh_. "Can I stay with you for a while?"

"I'm not sure that would be best, Lena." She tilted her head. With sleep-slowed movements, she skillfully climbed up into his lap, curling against his chest.

He didn't move for the longest time. He didn't trust himself. She was as warm as himself, but the blood flowing through her veins was far more appealing to him. He stiffened slightly. She yawned once, closer to the end of the endeavor. "Thank you, Uncle M."

He focused on thoughts. How he shouldn't be allowing a small child to sleep on him. How he wasn't a father figure in any way. How her fear was dissipating and how that shouldn't have happened. When he came back to reality, Lena was asleep on him.

* * *

He was glad when Jane married and started a family. He knew it was crucial to let it go. It helped to know she wasn't suffering with him. And when she died, it was worse than when he had left her. He had planned that, made sure his life would never cross with hers in any way, paid particular care to when she would drop books by, so he wouldn't run into her. With all that genius, he didn't change a thing. She still died because of him. Because _knowing_ him was enough justification. Revenge wouldn't bring her back. He'd still feel a void, and she'd still be gone.

Lena was spending the month with Delphine. The family had acted with concern when they heard of Lila Evers death. _Wate. Lila Evers-Wate._ He drank himself into a stupor, a state in which he could effectively act. He had already changed his will. There were some meager things he had left to her, which had to be transferred.

Now, he was standing in front of his desk, his hands braced on either side of a large book he had read a few years ago. He knew Leah was planning on making a visit later in the day, if he could remember. Lena's family had debated who would be deceased by the time this ended. He hadn't paid much attention to it until now, when it seemed so obvious what should happen. The book wasn't the Book of Moons, but it did give light to what could abate the Duchannes curse.

Others had been vague, alluding to some act that would end it. This particular one claimed someone the Natural loved would die. When he first read it, he dismissed the theory as inane. However, as time grew short and his thoughts verged on desperate, it seemed more of an escape.

The door slammed open. Leah stood in the doorway, a fire in her eyes. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What do you mean, Leah?" He raised slightly bloodshot eyes to see her.

"I mean that you are killing yourself. I know it _hurts_, but there are people who depend on you. You don't have the obligation to wallow in self-inflicted pain, Macon."

His lips tightened. "I'm researching."

"Oh, really? That's what we're calling it now, brother-mine?" His retort was biting.

"Yes, really. The Duchannes curse. I found a way to end it without the expected turmoil." Her eyes widened, the passion abating.

"How?"

"The curse calls for an...inverse action to what started it. Genevieve saved that Mortal boy. Lena must kill-"

"Macon-"

"-someone she loves. Not a Mortal, per say, but someone she loves in some form."

Her shoulders sagged from their common placement. "What does this change? Lena will be Claimed and..."

"No one dies." His voice softened.

"But you do."

"Which I had planned already, for Lena's Claiming." His lips twitched in an almost grin.

"Macon, this is-"

"-ingenious and-"

"-ludicrous and-"

"-perfectly planned-"

"-psychotic. Did you not just hear what I said? People need you. Now, I know _she_ is gone, but there are others. Lena needs you to be her father. Ryan needs someone who knows about this house, for all the time she spends here. Amma is your counterpart."

"They'll move on, Leah."

"I won't." He blinked once, twice, almost as though he hadn't heard.

"You're strong, Leah." She breathed a sigh, her form trembling. She closed the door gently, hesitating as her anger dissipated.

"What, exactly, does this entail?" His expression brightened.

* * *

They met again a few weeks later. Leah was reluctant to agree, but if he was going to follow through with this, she decided it was better for it to be her. He was dressed in a nice suit, one she hadn't seen in a while. She didn't feel the slightest ashamed of her rugged boots and swaying coat. He had that air about him. He was better than you, but he made you feel brilliant. He was concerned about the children hearing, and had been careful about the entire encounter. *We'll be efficient in this?* His eyes flashed to her form as she Traveled to the study.

She looked tired. A tightness found its way into her smile, a hardness in her gaze. The passion she revered was dying. She spoke first, attempting to sound casual. "This Cast won't damage your plan, right?"

"No. The principle should be the same. We're simply making it...more likely for our situation to occur."

"We're stacking the deck against us?" Her voice was somewhat flat.

"In a way." She rolled her eyes. Her hand trailed over the hard cover of the book. For once, she understood the irony.

* * *

Leah didn't gamble. She didn't believe in the principle, didn't attempt to use chance as an excuse. Her brother, however, enjoyed the notion. The Cast was thorough. She waited for an hour after, to be sure nothing went amiss.

Macon shivered lightly. He winced as the pain started in the back of his skull. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's my life to give, Leah." He leaned his head back against the wall. His legs had given out during the original Cast, and his form was against the floor and wall. "It's a good thing. It's actually *working* very well." His hands trembled.

"You never told me why you're doing this." Her tone was carefully detached.

"Is that an accusation?" Her glare was sharp. "I'm fulfilling my familial responsibility."

"You're giving us another chance at life."

"Hardly. One person, Leah." He was exasperated.

"You're a hero, Macon."

"I'm simply being a caring brother." He flinched again. "Saving your existence for the last time." He let his eyes close. "Of course, this is an insurance. If someone finishes me off, as you say, before her birthday, we're lost."

"Ah, but you're Macon Ravenwood. When haven't you been some kind of lost?"

His voice lowered to an almost whisper. "If she doesn't kill me, this will before she is Claimed."

"How long?"

"I don't know." He tensed briefly. "The night of, if everything goes right. Mere minutes before her actual decision."

"A bit close, isn't it?"

He chuckled softly, a low sound in his throat. "Oh, Leah, I forgot you didn't gamble. The exact time will change depending on how fast this progresses. Minutes is an estimate, very flexible." His voice faded off as he fell asleep. Leah threw her glance to the ceiling. _The lost boy found at last._


End file.
